


Ephemeral

by Lizzen



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Changing POV, F/F, Sexual Fantasy, Smut, not exactly a threesome, not exactly sisterzoned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 13:45:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12706197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/pseuds/Lizzen
Summary: Post Season 3 Episode 5 “Damage”; As the wine pours, a series of day-dreamed fantasies escalate into something very real.What if, she thinks, what if this cozy warmth shifted. A shameless adjustment in position, limbs, and intention. In her mind’s eyes, it’s an easy switch in tone; one moment close, and the next moment, Sam’s hand slides along her skin and Kara’s arms grip her tight.God, she thinks, for a brief gasping moment of shame before the fantasy continues to play out. These are her friends, her only friends and she’s-- she’s-- Her cheeks burn, but fuck it, it’s a luxury she’s going to enjoy for a fleeting moment.There’s no repercussions to thoughts, despite how salacious. And this, this is what she thinks--





	Ephemeral

**Author's Note:**

> the gf asked for it, the gf shall receive.  
> love to th_esaurus for the thumbs up, eyehearts for kellsbells, and thank god for petragem <333
> 
> I attempted to stay in canon as much as possible, but, dear reader, assume that Kara stays into the night vs being called away. The porn fairy commands it so.

*  
_“you’ve never had a sister”  
“two, two sisters”_

 

 

*  
**ONE**  
*  
With her glass now empty, Sam awkwardly reaches over for the bottle, and finds herself staring at Lena’s collar, her eyes follow the plunging neckline to the swell beneath. She breathes in, shakes her head, and brings the bottle back up to shakily pour it into her glass. It’s Bottle No. 2 now, and her mind feels cloudy and her mouth stutters over words. Time for quiet reflection, she thinks, as Lena and Kara continue to chat, Lena’s full frame pushed against Kara’s side. Kara’s arm around Lena’s shoulders. It’s sweet. They’re close and Sam admires that about them. A real sort of intimacy. 

And Lena’s leg is pressed against Sam’s, slightly open from the other and one heel is up, toes pushed against the floor. Without much thought to it, Sam, lightly, ever so lightly, puts her hand on Lena’s knee; a warming sort of move to comfort. Lena blinks, looks over at her, and her lips curl up into such a beautiful smile. 

It’s like an electric shock; a strange, surprising sort of sensation. Sam forgets she’s her boss, and her mind blazes into an impulse that she could never act on. Not while Kara’s-- Not with Ruby in the next room. 

But nothing, _nothing_ , can stop the rapid fire images from the deepest corner of her heart and the rapidly growing intensity between her legs. Like crashing waves against rocks; an uncontrolled force. For, dear reader, let _us_ not deny that a Worldkiller, such as she is and despite all her ignorance, has the kind of burning desires that can end civilizations and change the fortune of a planet, for good or ill.

And this, _this_ is what she sees in the technicolor imagination of her mind’s eye:

Her hand on Lena’s knee clenches, nails digging a little into the cloth and the skin underneath. A sort of mark; a sort of message that more is to come. To elicit anticipation and make her intent known. Lena opens her mouth just a little, an attempt to let out a gasp without anyone knowing. Sam smiles, feeling incredibly brave, and her hand begins to move. Up, up, _up_ , and up her leg till Sam’s hand makes purchase, fingers pressed against cloth and underwear and oh so sensitive skin. It’s so easy, so simple. Her hand moves, an undulating sort of act, and Lena lets out the prettiest of sighs. 

In this daydream, Kara watches, keeping Lena completely still with an unnatural kind of strength. A friendly act, solidarity in the face of potential pleasure for their mutual friend. They make a good team, Sam thinks, in this and other things. Kara, of course, would _want_ Lena to be happy, to be--

Lena’s sigh turns into something that is definitely a moan and Sam bites her lip, overcome with how delicious Lena looks. That opening volley turned to something more serious. Sam moves her hand, a fluttering action with a promise of more, and Lena’s head leans back forcefully against Kara. 

Sam could linger here, she really could; a sort of gentle fuck between cloth, but by all that is good, and as this is daydream, Sam wants to get her fingers wet. 

The next bit is murky as it requires the following: Lena adjusts so she can shed clothes and Kara lends a helping hand as Sam tugs and pulls till bespoke weaves hits the floor, and Lena’s legs are bare. Sam runs a teasing hand along skin and Lena shivers. “Don’t dawdle,” Kara commands and Sam is eager to get back to it.

Her hand reaches elegant silk and slides it aside so she can reach, so she can touch that incredible wetness underneath. Her fingers linger in it for a moment, revealing in the realization that she, that she did this. Made Lena this way; all ready and _ready willing_ for her. 

That’s when she begins in earnest; that’s when she rubs her fingers against skin and learns exactly what Lena wants based on gasps and sighs and wordless mumbles. This continues, and continues for a spell before Sam finds her courage, slides her fingers southerly and slips right into Lena’s sex without much warning. Lena gasps and grips Kara’s arms, holding her so still. And there, there in the delicious mess of her, Sam fucks in, and in, and in, until Lena shakes and shudders. It’s so nice, like this, like they are in this position. Sam active, Lena passive; Kara holding them together. A synergy with a specific and with a singular goal in mind.

And there, there it is. The lovely assurance that pleasure has been met; Lena comes, her sex violently crashing against Sam’s fingers, and her mouth full of a slurring “yes”-shaped sound.

It’s beautiful, truly. The shock and awe of it; _who saw this coming? Really?_ and the intensity of feeling. Sam feels her own sex quiver but it’s not about her, it’s not about her needs tonight and in this moment. It’s about making Lena feel good, and feel good in her own skin. A perfect conclusion to a strange and heady sort of day. Sam sees her fingers linger for a moment against Lena’s wetness, a soft and roiling sort of movement, and then she removes them, sliding against Lena’s naked thigh, and then returning to the grip on Lena’s knee. A reminder of how this started. 

And Lena opens her mouth, and something like “oh, you _wonder_ ” comes out of it. It’s wonderful and it’s almost enough. 

The daydream ends as Lena really, and in reality, laughs out loud, a merry sort of sound but jarring Sam out of her consuming reverie. At that, she clenches her fists and wills the desire to burn out of her. And takes a long gulp of red wine as the flames continue to lick at her insides till she crosses her arms and thinks fervently of complex spreadsheets and the intricacies of corporate law. 

A flight of fancy has its pleasures, but reality isn’t half bad, she thinks when Lena’s attention once again focuses in on her. “You doing okay?” Lena asks, all open and kind, and Kara’s gaze redirects to Sam’s eyes. 

It’s nice, really nice to be cared for. 

“I’m doing okay,” she replies, and she means it. 

 

 

*  
**TWO**  
*  
With her glass now empty, Lena awkwardly reaches over for the bottle, and her knee presses hard against Sam’s as she crushes more firmly against Kara’s frame. Intimacy like this is not her style, not what she’s used to; and yet, here she is. Sandwiched between two amazing, _amazing_ women who-- who love her. Completely, and for all that she is. She shakily pours a glass of wine for herself and is sipping it as she places the bottle down in front of her, almost sloshing it all over herself. Pulling away, she holds the glass to her side, closer to Sam, and tries to feel in touch with the moment. Be mindful of her thoughts and the tension in her body. Kara’s arm snakes back around her, squeezes her tight.

And as she closes her eyes, wills her shoulders to relax, there’s a thought that grows like a canker in the periphery of her mind. It shocks, astonishes her. Before she gives it much more attention, she looks to her left, to her right: Sam and Kara are chatting easily about Ruby, and Lena’s free to-- free to--

And her tiny little thought blossoms into a full fledged force of feeling. 

And it goes, it goes a little like this:

What if, she thinks, _what if_ this cozy warmth shifted. A shameless adjustment in position, limbs, and intention. In her mind’s eyes, it’s an easy switch in tone; one moment close, and the next moment, Sam’s hand slides along her skin and Kara’s arms grip her tight. 

God, she thinks, for a brief gasping moment of shame before the fantasy continues to play out. These are her friends, her only friends and she’s-- she’s-- Her cheeks burn, but _fuck it_ , it’s a luxury she’s going to enjoy for a fleeting moment. 

There’s no repercussions to thoughts, despite how salacious. And this, this is what she thinks: 

Sam is all business, pulling and pushing Lena into a position that works. Lena’s head is against the swell of Kara’s breasts and her legs are open wide, wide enough that— _god_ , for a moment of panic, she stares up at Kara’s face. Sees the familiar love and unfamiliar longing, and Kara bends down to brush a kiss, warm and with an apparent resolve behind it, against her lips as—

Sam is all _business_ , and her kisses against skin are in a straight line, and lined up to meet Lena’s most sensitive skin. Lena gasps against Kara’s lips as Sam begins to lick at her experimentally and then with purpose. It’s a pearl clutching moment; a mouth at her sex and a mouth at her lips. 

And Lena succumbs to the indulgence. 

She’s been eaten out plenty of times in her life, of course. Men are a little skittish about it, timid about the act whilst unaware of the power it elicits. Women, in her experience, know the drill; or at least, learn it fast, and learn it well. Sam, she imagines, is well versed in getting her from Point A to Point Z at a merciless pace. No nonsense, just unadulterated pleasure. And her heart, oh how it races.

She’s been kissed, of course, _of course_ , by many a person with beautiful lips and furtive tongue. But she’s sensed for a long time that Kara would be an excellent kisser. Nothing lush and dirty, all wet and teeth and making you feel like a wanton thing. No, _no_ , Kara would kiss like the person she is: kind, giving, open, and very, _very_ determined. The kind of careful kiss that makes you feel special, feel loved. Lena luxuriates in the act, kissing her best friend without a lick of consequence. 

If she’s being honest, really honest with herself, Lena would love, truly and deeply love to take another woman with golden curls by the wrist, pull her impossibly close and kiss her till they’re both floating in the air, metaphorically _or_ literally. Have her arms around that muscular goodness, a tight embrace that Lena wouldn’t end even as sirens rang out to call _her_ away. That’s the ultimate, ultimate fantasy, she thinks with a smile before returning to more fairytale, more innocent coupling of her lips against Kara’s. 

But no. No, she should consider Sam, working so hard to bring her to the brink and then-- and then-- Lena imagines the break spectacular and imagines breaking away from Kara to catch her breath and look down at Sam’s wet lips. Smile so wide, fit to burst. And her mouth opens and says: “again.”

And Sam laughs, that kind of beautiful laugh that puts you at ease, and her lips would be wet. “As you wish,” she says. 

This time, Lena grabs Kara’s hand and presses it hard against her breast, willing her to linger there so she can focus on the intensity building at the growing heat between her legs. Kara complies, watches with her eyes, holds with her arms, and lazily teases Lena’s nipple with her fingers. While Lena feels parched -- needing more wine, more kisses -- she keeps as still as possible in the middle of all this considerate attention. 

It’s truly remarkable, the skill of Sam’s tongue and the glorious introduction of her fingers, pressing in hard into Lena’s sex. “Yes,” she says to urge it on, and that’s when Kara’s fingers begin to pinch, and Sam’s fingers begin to fuck. From sweet and delightful, the sensations turn to sharp, unyielding, and overwhelming good. The drumbeat raging in her heart increases, and she can feel herself sweat. It will be over soon, this delicious build into pleasure; but she can enjoy every aching second of it. 

When she comes, this time, Sam adjusts, her fingers still fucking in, but her frame across Lena’s so she can reach her lips; wet, hungry kisses as Kara holds her impossibly still. 

It’s too much, it’s just too much, and Lena cries out. 

“What’s wrong?” Kara says, really, and in reality. And startled, and overstimulated, Lena just laughs, laughs and laughs, and laughs. She brings the glass to her lips before saying. “I’m thirsty,” and she takes an enormous drink of it to the amusement of a very real Sam, a very real Kara. Their hands, _of course_ , to themselves and their lips decidedly dry. 

“As long as you’re okay,” Kara follows up, and Lena can hear the concern. Finds it earth shattering again that someone really does, really does care for her. 

“I’m better than okay,” she says, a little breathless, and her hand reaches over to grip Sam’s shoulder. “I’m okay.” And she means it. 

 

 

*  
**THREE**  
*  
With her glass now empty, Kara thinks about how awkward it is if she pours another drink since wine does _nothing for her_ but appearances are appearances. She takes the bottle in front of her and neatly pours a small glass and raises it to her lips, sucks some of it down, and places it back on the coaster. Settles back in, and listens to Lena and Sam chat. 

This, this is really lovely, she thinks. After so much trauma, to have this little island of respite. And her arms, so empty of late, are full with Lena so firmly against her. Intimacy of this sort is intoxicating; pulling her in and filling her with a surprising joy. 

Sam, she likes. She considers her to be an ally, worthy of her time and more than worthy of her friendship. They’re a good team, and Kara loves, _loves_ how much Sam supports Lena, above and beyond the banality of contract and respect; she is the pillar Lena can lean on, push against. An immovable object. 

Lena, she loves. Without question, without much thought to it; Kara Danvers loves Lena Luthor. And her mind adjusts that feeling to friendship, and sisterhood; an unfair assessment of facts and feeling, but a safe one. For you see, her heart (quietly, ever so quietly) knows better. 

But they, mere humans of Earth, are growing sleepy and drunk, and Kara is watching their descent with some sadness. Unable to join them, and slowly, insidiously, disconnected from them. 

She imagines what it would be like for chemicals to change her, adjust her, _move her_ in a new direction. Oh, the explorative fantasies therein. The pleasures and the pain. How it would interrupt her motives and motivations; how it would inspire her actions and words. 

Better, she thinks, to be without. Safer, she knows, to be without. And yet, as she sees both Sam and Lena’s eyes unfocus, their minds distracted, she has a touch of a thing jealous. With alcohol involved, you can point to it with accusatory blame for anything said or unsaid, any act done or undone. How pleasant to have an opportunity, to have an excuse.

And while Sam and Lena descend, Kara imagines, in her mind’s eye, and without the numbing euphoria of ethanol: honest words. 

Sam would speak of what’s bothering her; some barely hidden secret she’s holding dear. 

Lena would speak of her fears of being a Luthor, and of the violent reality therein. 

Kara would speak of who she really is and not fear the consequence.

It’s a lovely, it’s a beautiful fantasy. Words spoken, and easily digested. Sam’s great fears resolved with love. Lena’s great fears resolved with love. Kara’s great fears resolved with love. A beautiful, unified approach to self imposed terrors. And a closer knit bond than ever before. Sisters, they said; and now forever bound with truth. 

It’s lovely, the thought, and Kara holds it close, warmed by it. But before she can smile, truly enjoy the sensation, she’s reminded that: Sam, while truly lovely, is still closer to stranger than sister; and, Lena will never accept that her best friend, _her best friend_ , is Supergirl and the Luthor’s enemy.

Her fingers grasp for the wineglass, and she sips at it, if only for something to do, some act to perform other than what is burning beneath her: the urge to flee. Push her feet against the floor and launch into the air, away, away, _far away_. 

She sips again and her mind tumbles further, steeping in the agony of the inevitable future where Lena _knows_ and despises her. The shared street of fond affection, a bridge that will only be shattered one day. Loss, the oh-so-familiar and weighted yoke around her neck, will only get worse as each moment passes, as time gets closer and closer to the day Lena’s hand encircles her wrist and says her given name. 

Her grip on Lena’s shoulder tightens, and Lena turns her head, her lips so close now. “Hey,” she says, and her eyes are slightly hooded from one glass too many. But she’s present, she’s very real. “What’s up?”

And a longing _unnatural_ overwhelms her. She can’t let Lena leave her, let her go. She can’t even comprehend a world without Lena in it. And as this panic rises in her throat, she tries to say: “I’m okay” but it comes out as “I’m sorry.”

In the periphery of her vision, she sees Sam tense; can even hear, if she listens, to the muscles shifting in place. “I’ll be back,” Sam says, rising from the couch and headed in the direction of the bathroom. 

Lena turns to watch her go, and Kara’s eyes linger on the curve of her neck and a series of thoughts and ideas ramrod forcefully into the space between her mind and her eyes. Kara has to squeeze her legs together briefly as she banishes them, puts them to the side, firmly avoids them; debauched and impossible flights of fancy. Not worth her time and attention, not when--

And Lena turns her head, shifts a little so that her face is so close to Kara’s. “Now,” she says. “Tell me what’s up.” And it’s like lightning hitting her; shattering her will into shards and breaking her resolve. It’s the crash of hell meeting heaven, and it’s the shuddering suck of an endless abyss. 

And this is what happens, what _really_ happens.

Her lips crash against Lena’s. 

It’s an impulse, surely, but it’s based on something rooted so deep inside of her that she cannot excuse it. Her mouth can move with the words “this was an accident, and I never meant for this to happen” if she really wanted to lie; but her body aches with the conclusiveness of this action. What it means in the moment versus what it will mean when it’s over.

Their lips part for a moment, and yet it’s Lena who pushes back in; open and ready for her. It’s astonishing, how exposed Kara feels and yet she cannot stop her mouth giving and taking a kiss worth remembering. Something long and luxurious; an exploration of taste and texture with the incomparable sweetness of hearing Lena’s sighs. 

And it ends, a sort of sharp and cruel denouement, when they hear the bathroom door shut, and Lena pulls away, her eyes in an even stare. 

Sam calls out before coming into view: “Hey, you girls okay? Got real quiet.”

Lena doesn’t even look at Sam, just stares at Kara; or more specifically, at Kara’s lips. “Yeah,” Lena says, breathlessly. “I’m okay.” And her gaze rises to Kara’s wide open eyes. “Are you okay, Kara?”

“Yeah,” Kara echoes, and impulsively leans over to press another, less damning, kiss. This time on Lena’s temple. “Everything’s good.” 

And she can’t decide if she hopes Lena remembers or if she hopes Lena forgets what happened in the crush of intimacy and daze of alcohol tonight. Her heart in her mouth, she looks up and says, “I should go home,” and Sam makes a protesting sound as Lena grips her hand, fingers around her wrist. 

“Stay.”

Breathe in, breathe out; and Kara opens her mouth.

*


End file.
